The Gospel of Donald
by Lunamaria
Summary: It was a war, not a fairytale.


_The Gospel of Donald  
_(for lattejazz)

_I own nothing._

**D**onald Duck, court wizard to King Mickey himself, had never once been afraid of the dark. That is, until the day came that Donald Duck, magician extraordinaire, discovered that there was darkness at all.

Rumors of war, for the first time that Donald could ever remember, whispered through the regal gates of Disney Castle. They spoke of evil, of beings without hearts, of danger… darkness. They came from nowhere and spread far and wide, even to other worlds, little stars twinkling unwittingly throughout Donald's sky. He worried little of the news, for his king was competent and very wise for such a small mouse. How could such a thing as darkness exist? Donald had never wondered until the day his competent king vanished into thin air. And sooner than he knew he was off in search of a key and, unknowingly, a full-scale war.

Finding the war turned out to be easier than finding the key. And what's more, finding out what to do with that key was the trickiest puzzle piece of all - how could some magical hunk of metal be the answer to their prayers, he wondered. How could it save his heart?

What Donald learned early on was that war could force even the best into a corner. It stripped eyes of all the gray and reduced justice to black and white. Donald knew better but tried not to think of the lines too much, for what he found might swallow him whole. He knew that those beings he fought against weren't really people, that they only appeared to be, and had no hearts, but sometimes he just didn't know what to do. He couldn't let himself look too closely because, sometimes, he really began to wonder. How could things that could hate and loathe not love and cry and laugh as well? Donald tried not to seek answers.

Goofy seemed more certain in their war. His shield never wavered, his mind never thought that maybe, just maybe, they couldn't… shouldn't win. He was such a hairbrained dog that it left Donald dumfounded. How could such an oaf have such confidence in his actions? Goofy was very kind, uncommonly so, and unswervingly loyal to his king in this war. It gave Donald so much to ponder. Why did he not see the edges of right and wrong that Goofy, Sora and the king all saw? Perhaps, the duck considered, the darkness was seeping into his heart, blurring all conviction. Sometimes Donald was truly convinced that he might wake up one morning and be fighting on the wrong side. Those thoughts frightened him most.

But even in the midst of chaos and peril, they were granted unexpected miracles. Like being sucked into a black whole and landing in a small, busy island that Sora once called home. The trio blinked at first, confused, but the second the key bearer laid eyes on the shore and saw the sky, he knew where they were and cried, just cried right there in the ship. Cried, for he had not seen home in a long, long time and was so happy to be there again. Donald and Goofy cried as well, cried in a different way - would they ever make it home again, to the castle? Secretly they both worried and doubted that they ever would. After, they collected themselves, laughed and swam home. It maybe wasn't their home, but it was Sora's… and that was enough.

It was a little strange, being happy again (if only momentarily). For Donald, seeing them together again was a small happiness. When there was so much chaos and destruction, it was a beautiful thing to see that love still existed somewhere. Their reunion was short, but sweet, and Sora grinned like a ninny for days afterwards. That was the way of things though, always departing, always destined for a new world and new battles. It became routine, leaving and leaving again. And fighting.

During the next scuffle the trio found, all Donald could see was Sora and Kairi, smiling, fingers interwoven - and then, in the next instant, he imagined the slight redhead burning alive. It was all he could see as each magical chant zapped and zipped. They'd seen it before, after all. Burned, beaten, slashed, dismembered bodies. It was a war, not a fairytale. Finally the moral edges, as he called them, sharpened a little.

At the end, Donald knew at least one thing through and through. There were no winners in war. Sure, there was always one higher body count, but that didn't mean winning or losing. Everyone lost something. Sometimes Donald even wondered if what they gained in return was worth anything at all. But it was tiring work, assigning blame and playing mind games about ifs and whats and so on. No matter what he thought now, Donald had been a part of what happened and put a little blood on his feathers. He was changed, tired and confused, but had no regrets. No matter what anyone said about the duck, he would just as soon serve his kingdom again.

Not because he was a winner, for he didn't believe in that silly word, but because he had everyday happiness… like Daisy and his magic, his nephews and uncles, Sora and Kairi, breathing. And those things were worth his life and more. Because they had been threatened and someone had to protect them, no matter what. And that was why Donald fought that impractical war, because he could not be silent. Sometimes things just happened and all he could do was react. He could have been silent if he wanted, but there was weakness in silence and power in acting. Different sorts of power, of course, but Donald chose to believe that his was good, that it was Light. How could it not be? How could something that wanted to harm his Daisy be right? How could he justify letting such an evil exist?

It all came back to that illusive concept: justice.

What it meant to him, to darkness, to everything. Donald still could not define that word, not really. He could read off a meaning in one of the king's old chronicles, but he could place faith in such a narrow definition. As if a mere sentence could contain all the tears he had cried over the past years, all the fears, all the battles. As if that definition could understand. Understand that both sides lost, that what he thought was right and worth living for was wrong and worthy dying for to someone else. As if anyone but God knew the real answers.

Well, at least he knew one thing: Daisy was alive. And so maybe he would never know if he was truly good or if Nobody's weren't completely evil. There were a lot of things he would never find the answers to - like how to stop the nightmares, the crying, how to be strong again. Perhaps, though, those weren't his answers to unearth. Perhaps it was his fate to be there for those he loved and manage each day as it came. For some days it seemed like it took everything within him just to face himself. But other days he knew, just knew, that he had done everything in his power to save the cosmos and, heavens, he wasn't just going to let them go without a fight.

Donald fell back into the grass, breathing in and out slowly, cherishing each sweet, lively breath of Daisy next to him. Today was better than yesterday and that seemed to be the way of things. Each day was easier than the last, each night filled with just a little more seep and a few less nightmares. It was still complicated, but there was hope that someday things would be better. That spring would eventually return again and, with it, healing. Donald held onto that hope and saw it everywhere, saw it when he looked in the mirror, and saw it in the love of his friends. Saw it next to him as he reached out to take Daisy's hand.

No matter how grim things got, he had to remember that she was alive. It kept him going when nothing else did. He didn't want to fight, didn't want to hurt anyone… but sometimes things just happened and so he made a decision. To do what was right. Not for glory, fanfare or a great story to tell wondering eyes, but because there was no other way. The darkness started that confounded war and, by and by, someone had to finish it. So, he, a king, a dog and a boy played their parts in a war that was not as glorious as it might have seemed, not as heroic as it sounded to the ears of children who heard the story as sleep came. They emerged victorious, if such a thing could be called a victory, a little more afraid of the dark but, and here was the key, without regrets.

Strange thought it might seem, that was enough for him.

"Daisy," Donald said, breathing in.


End file.
